


Falling Off the Deep End

by CannonCanon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940's pop culture references, 1940's slang, Brief Violence, Dramedy, F/M, Flashbacks, Food, Friendship, M/M, Memory Loss, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Tony Stark being Tony Stark, Travel, Unrequited Love, brain washing, people fall down but they get back up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannonCanon/pseuds/CannonCanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don't really have the security clearance you need to pursue this.  But there's only one word I could use to describe that man,” Clint said.  “And that word is familiar.  Natasha ever tell you anything about Budapest?”</p><p>“I'm aware that Budapest is a place,” Steve said, “But I don't see-”</p><p>“Steve,” Clint said, “Pepper's alive.  You're alive.  There are a lot of people alive, that...  Well, it's counter intuitive.  But Natasha agrees with me on this one.  Budapest.  I can't tell you anything more, I can't even tell you why.  But I have seen that man before.  He's not like what you told Tony, though.  The man I saw was cold.  Like he didn't have a soul.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group Therapy

The trouble with the old newsreels was that the most important parts were almost always just outside of the frame. After the alien attack on New York, Steve Rogers felt like he'd fought out some of his grief. The thing about being frozen in a chunk of ice for decades was that his old life was still oddly current for him. When he was first brought back to consciousness, he felt as though he'd lost nearly everything he had left after Bucky had fallen from the train in just one day, even though many of his friends lived to be old. For Steve, they were all gone overnight.

When he felt ready, he'd gone looking for archival footage of what he'd lost, old photographs and newsreels and articles. He'd visited the Library of Congress more than once, he'd purchased DVDs that promised to show rare footage, he'd even visited Tony Stark's attic looking for things Howard Stark might have put away.

But frequently, any reports of the activities of Steve's old unit focused on the antics of Captain America. The objects of his interest, he knew, were always just out of frame. He could remember the exact moments depicted, he could practically visualize where his friends were standing. Steve wished he could push himself out of the way, so he could get a clearer view of what he really wanted to see.

Occasionally, he'd get lucky. Peggy Carter had pictures of some of the Howling Commandos with whom she'd stayed in contact. He watched Dugan, Gabe, and Dernier age over the course of a few photographs, seeming to live smiling lives. With some effort, he even uncovered some old photographs of Morita and Falsworth, who were less lucky.

There weren't many pictures of James “Bucky” Barnes floating around out there.There were the comic books to peruse, but the comic books were wrong. Whoever drew the comics had never seen Bucky, or if they had, they'd chosen to give him an unflattering makeover. In the comics, Bucky was barely more than a boy, Steve's faithful sidekick. 

It made Steve sick to remember the day Bucky saw the hatchet job they'd given him. “Well, I'm never getting laid again,” Bucky said, tossing the rag at Steve, who had already seen it. 

Steve laughed. “It's not that bad, Buck!” he said. “And anyway, it'll probably be good for you. How many French girls have you gone through?”

Bucky's expression softened. “God, I love the French,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I've noticed,” Steve said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Anyway, the funny papers are probably doing you a favor. You've had too much luck with dames, Bucky, maybe it's a good thing somebody's trying to slow you down.”

Bucky grinned, “You're blowing smoke up my ass.” Because he was easily distracted, he went on, “You know they really did use to do that, blow smoke up people's asses? A medic told me about it, they use to hook a fella up to some kind of tubing, thought it'd help him breathe. Help him breathe by puffing tobacco right up in there.”

“I shoulda listened when those nuns told me you were bad news,” Steve said. “All these years of putting up with you, and where has it got me?”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky said, turning away from Steve and laying down to sleep, “You're expecting miracles with what I've got to work with? Here I introduce you to all these nice girls, French girls, regular dishes, and here you go with your principles again. You know what your problem is, Steve? You're not living in the here and now. We might both be dead tomorrow and you're what, saving yourself for true love?”

Steve tried to get comfortable in his bedding, but it was hard when his gut was twisting on Bucky's words. “Something like that,” he said.

“If you really like Carter you should ask her out,” Bucky called over his shoulder. “Before Stark does. Or, hell, Steve, I might make an honest to God pass at her if you don't do something.” Bucky flipped around to look Steve in the eye. “I worry about you, you know? I want you to see you happy, and what do you do? You sulk around when we're off duty, you don't even talk to any of these nice girls. Look at me, I was strapped to a table a few months ago. Have you ever seen me more gay? It's like I've got a second chance in life, and you know what I'm going to do with it? I'm going to sleep my way through the phone book, starting with the D's. Double D's where available.”

“You're a creep, you know that?” Steve said halfheartedly, turning away from his friend. Steve was jealous, but not because Bucky was so lucky with the ladies. It was just as well that Bucky never found out the truth about Steve's lackluster love life. Steve reasoned that Bucky wouldn't have understood. If he hadn't figured it out in all the years they'd known each other, then there was no chance he would have ever returned the feelings Steve kept hidden.

As much as the girls fawned over Bucky, he never seemed to form any permanent attachments to any of them. Steve remembered their names longer than Bucky did on many occasions. When Bucky died, there wasn't a wife or a mother clinging to Bucky's memory, so it stood to reason that there wasn't anyone holding onto little mementos. Just another orphan from Brooklyn no one would miss. Nobody except Steve Rogers.

After a few months of looking, he'd finally found an old photograph worth keeping. Clint tipped him off that there were a few items that might be of interest in the locker of one Phil Coulson. Oddly enough, he found what he was looking for in the form of a trading card. He took it to have an enlarged copy made. It was a little fuzzy; after all, it was small and grainy and almost an antique, but it was a good image none the less. A real picture of Bucky and Steve, not the Bucky and Steve from the comic books. In the picture, Bucky and Steve were in full uniform, celebrating a minor victory at a restaurant in Paris. Bucky had thrown a lazy arm across Steve's shoulders, already half drunk and very much enjoying himself. Steve wore a bemused smile, glancing at Bucky rather than staring into the camera. An 8x10 frame contained all Steve Rogers had left of his best friend and the only love that mattered.

He propped the frame up in one of the most visible places in the apartment he'd taken up for himself in Brooklyn. He wanted to look at it every day, so he put it on the counter that divided his kitchen from the dining room, which Tony teasingly called his breakfast nook. The size of the apartment was an easy target for mocking, after all, Tony owned skyscrapers. Stark tower dwarfed Steve's whole apartment complex, never mind his apartment. Steve and the other Avengers had been known to crash there on occasion after a rough mission, but that hardly made it his home. He liked having his own space.

In all the time Bucky's picture was sitting there, only Tony ever asked about it, and it had been there for months. Tony almost never darkened Steve's door. It wasn't just that the two of them didn't get along well, although that was certainly true. Tony spent most of his time living on the west coast with Pepper. Steve heard a rumor that Tony had PTSD after the New York incident, and that prevented him from coming back. After some time and an international incident with a terrorist known as the Mandarin, Tony dropped in on Steve to have what would, given the circumstances, pass for a heart to heart.

“It doesn't really make any sense,” Tony said, peeling an orange he'd taken from the fruit basket without asking. He'd sprawled himself out at the dining room table, putting a leg up on the chair beside him. Steve sat across the table, half slumped. Maybe Tony was jet lagged, but Steve was fairly certain he was just inconsiderate. “I mean, I've been in dangerous situations before. I'm sure you've read my file, I won't bother to tell you about the desert or the terrorists or any of that. It's ancient history, as far as I'm concerned. Point is, death and I are acquainted. It wasn't almost dying that scared me so much, I think.”

“Do you know what time it is, Tony?” Steve asked, resting his head on his arm.

“I think death had very little to do with it,” Tony said, ignoring Steve completely. “I mean, I think you guys kind of blew my worldview. Let's face it, I thought I had everything figured out.” He popped a piece of the fleshy orange in his mouth, and continued talking as he chewed. “I mean, me, I make sense. Of course I can invent a metal suit that flies. That's just a matter of planning and building and having the right foundation in technology. That's not magic, that's science, and science I understand. But Thor? The alien invasion? Bruce “I'm beautiful when I'm angry” Banner? It was a lot to take in. And you? The hero my old man had so much to say about, alive and well after he'd been sealed in a Birdseye entree since the 40's? The world doesn't work the way I thought it did. It's a lot bigger than the things that come natural to me, the things I understand.”

“Is there a point to any of this?” Steve asked.

“You wound me. I open up to you, all vulnerable and prepared to talk about the things that have been distressing me, which Dr Banner advised me to do, and you dismiss my feelings like they're meaningless,” Tony said.

“Bruce sent you?” Steve said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Okay, I've lain it all out for you. I've done my sharing,” Tony said.

Steve stood, preparing to walk Tony to the door. “Good. Well, it's good you stopped by, Tony-”

“Your turn,” Tony said. “Get it off your chest, Steve.” Tony looked at Steve expectantly, but Steve only stared at him blankly. “Oh, did I neglect to mention this is an intervention? We're all worried about you, and some of us don't have time for that. Thor is grieving his brother for reasons I don't quite understand, Natasha is swamped with missions, Clint has been working hard perfecting his bird calls, Bruce is trying to reestablish himself in real life, and do you know what they all tell me every time I pick up the phone? We're worried about Steve.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Because you're alive, Steve. But you don't have a life,” Tony said. Steve frowned and started to argue, but Tony stopped him. “Hey, hey, hey, don't get me wrong. I think it's sweet, you and your collection of World War II memorabilia,” he gestures at the framed trading card image as though it was part of the problem, “All snug in your apartment with your sketchbooks and your old time radio shows, or whatever it is you do. It's good you have your memories and your space. But you never go anywhere.”

“My collection of World War II memorabilia,” Steve said, half seething but not knowing what else to say. “My collection of World War II memorabilia,” he repeated.

“Well, yeah,” Tony floundered. He had anticipated a negative response, but he did not expect this to be the sticking point. “I mean, the giant trading card is a little excessive, Steve.”

Steve walked over to the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room, and he picked up the frame. He walked it back over to the table and put it down in front of Tony, where he knew he could see it. “That's my best friend,” Steve said, “Bucky Barnes.”

“Your best friend is a trading card?” Tony said.

“You wanted me to share. So, okay, I'll share. This is the only picture I could find of Bucky Barnes, my best friend. We took care of each other at the orphanage. You say your Dad told you about me? He must have mentioned Bucky,” Steve said.

“Nope,” Tony said. “Just you and Carter.” He picked up the picture, and Steve could tell he was studying the face that meant so much to him. “Barnes, eh? I thought he was some kind of kid gymnast sidekick.”

“The comics were wrong,” Steve said. “He was more of a man than I was. And, this is the longest I've ever... I mean, he's gone now. But,” Steve swallowed, not looking at Tony. “Before the war started, we were always together. Since we were kids. I mean, he went into service, and he was gone for a while then. But then this happened,” he said, gesturing at his body, “And he got captured, and I went after him, and I never let him out of my sight long after that. Not until the train.”

“The train,” Tony said, “Well, that tells me everything I need to know.”

“Do you really want me to talk about this?” Steve asked. “Do you really think it would help? Because I have some doubts.”

“By all means, talk it out,” Tony said, “We're in group therapy right now. Here, I'll get you started. You know how I feel about, about Pepper, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

“She fell,” Tony said.

“Oh,” Steve said. A spark for an awful flashback. He imagined Pepper Pots, barely hanging onto the railing, and Tony stark reaching for her hand. The train shook. Pepper fell away into the snowy landscape below on some godforsaken mountainside, shouting Tony's name. He felt an ache that he persuaded himself to believe was what Tony Stark felt.

“There was an active firefight going on, and a tower, and a fiery complex on the open ocean, and she let go and I just wasn't close enough,” Tony said, “And for a while, I was sure she was gone, but I had to keep fighting anyway. I'm an Avenger, right? That's what we do. Avenge. And so even though I was pretty sure my- I mean, I'm not a sentimental guy at all, you know this about me. But I mean, Pepper? I don't have to tell you how important she is. She's fine now, by the way. I don't understand how I would have felt after, if it really were as bad as I thought it was. But that first bit? I understand that part. The falling.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “The falling.”

“So, what was he like?” Tony asked.

“Easy,” Steve said. “Popular. Handsome. Funny. Sarcastic. A little jealous and hateful sometimes, but always willing to help out. Chased after girls. My best friend.”

“So, kinda like me,” Tony said, “Only you liked him.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Not like you at all. I mean, you would have liked him, everybody liked him. He had this smile that could take the tension out of a room. And he could fight too. Kept me out of trouble.”

“So,” Tony said, “You miss your boyfriend so much you can't leave your house for anything but work.”

There must have been something about Steve's face that gave him away, because Tony sat up.

“I wasn't serious, I just thought it was a bromance. It was a joke.” Tony said, “But you, I think I've learned something new about you, Captain.” Tony's face had dropped any pretense of joking around. “Wow. Okay. So, did he know?”

“Tony-”

“No, it's okay,” Tony fiddled with what was left of the orange, trying to pull another slice away. “It's not 1940-whenever-you're-from anymore. You ever heard of don't ask don't tell? It doesn't matter, they repealed it. They don't kick soldiers out anymore, for- for saying things. Or feeling things. Or doing things. Hell, I don't know, you caught me off guard. I just didn't expect this. I knew this was going to be a serious conversation, I'm not good at serious conversations. They should have sent Natasha. Did he know?” Tony asked again, “Please, Jesus, tell me he knew. I'm getting too invested in this story.”

“He didn't know,” Steve said. “There was nothing to know, I mean, I liked him. No, I loved him. Not the way he loved me.”

“The way he liked girls,” Tony provided.

Steve put his head in his hand. “I couldn't help it. I tried not to, I mean, I didn't think he would want me to think about him that way. I tried to like the girls he set me up with. But the only reason the double dates were tolerable was because he was there, and I-”

“Oh, Steve,” Tony said, “Steve, Steve, Steve, what are we going to do with you?” Tony put another orange slice in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I guess we're just going to have to set you up on a few dates. I mean, you've had like seventy years to grieve, Steve.”

“I was asleep,” Steve said. “It doesn't count.”

“You can't act like a widow if you were never married,” Tony said. “No, that's cruel. I'm sorry. But I'm still not going to put up with you sulking. I think I've got what I need to know to help you, but I'm going to have to consult with the rest of the team. We're going to need a strategy to tackle this.” He looked Steve up and down.

“Tony, whatever you're thinking,” Steve asserted, “No. Just no.”

“What, I didn't hear you,” Tony said, abandoning the kitchen, and making his way out the door.

“No, Tony,” Steve said, “No. Please. Tony, No.”

“You're breaking up, Steve. My life model decoy is not able to send any further information to me from your location, terrible reception,” Tony said.

“Tony, you're right here, you can hear me fine, do not set me up,” Steve called. Tony was already out the door. “Well, I'm sure this won't end badly at all,” he said sarcastically to the empty house. “Shows me for talking about feelings with Howard Stark's kid.” Still, he went back to the dining room to put the photo back where it belonged. It was only then he realized Tony had taken it with him.

He didn't have long to wait for the text messages to start rolling in.

Bruce's said, “Hang in there, buddy. Don't let Tony talk you into anything too crazy.”

Thor's said, “Do not allow Stark to give you undo misery.”

Natasha's said, “I know a guy I think you'd like.”

Clint didn't send a text. Clint came by the next day. Steve barely knew Clint, he wasn't even sure how he knew Steve's address. It was safe to assume Tony was responsible.

“You and I have a few things in common,” Clint said, more casually than Steve would have expected. It made Steve feel on edge, he wasn't sure where this was going. “What's your security clearance level, Steve?”

“Level six. You're not about to spill some state secrets, are you, Barton?” Steve asked.

“I might be,” Clint said. “Have you seen Phil around lately?”

“Phil who?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean, Phil who?” Clint threw his hands in the air. “The guy who died? Your biggest fan? The one I had you rummaging around in his stuff for the damned picture? Phil Coulson?”

“I know who you mean. But how could I have seen him lately, if he's dead?” Steve asked.

“There are a lot of things people at work don't tell you, Steve,” Clint said. “And some things that they do tell you, that might not be completely true. National security. Terrorism. Patriot act sorts of things. I mean, we all know we work for the government, right?”

“So, you're telling me, what?” Steve said, “Phil Coulson is alive?”

“I'm not telling you anything. I absolutely, definitely can't tell you why I have information that's above my paygrade. Because that's classified. But it's for personal reasons, reasons you would understand, given what I now know about you,” Clint said, “Tony showed us all the picture. And, I don't know how to put this.”

“What?” Steve asked. “What is it?”

“You don't really have the security clearance you need to pursue this. But there's only one word I could use to describe that man,” Clint said. “And that word is familiar. Natasha ever tell you anything about Budapest?”

“I'm aware that Budapest is a place,” Steve said, “But I don't see-”

“Steve,” Clint said, “Pepper's alive. You're alive. There are a lot of people alive, that... Well, it's counter intuitive. But Natasha agrees with me on this one. Budapest. I can't tell you anything more, I can't even tell you why. But I have seen that man before. He's not like what you told Tony, though. The man I saw was cold. Like he didn't have a soul.”

“Then it isn't him. It's a fuzzy picture, Clint,” Steve said, “It'd be easy for you to think you've seen him. But even if he'd survived the fall, he'd be old by now.”

“Prove me wrong,” Clint said. “Go looking for him. You said they never found a body. Go find it. It's better than mooning around here. You'd want to know if I was right, wouldn't you?”

“Just get out,” Steve said.

“Okay, Steve,” Clint said, “But I want you to think about what I've said.”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Steve said, practically closing the door in Clint's face. It was practically the only thing he could think about.

He turned the words over in his head as he slept, and they morphed together into a dream that didn't make any sense. Bucky huddled by the train tracks, waiting for Steve to come back and get him. It kept snowing and snowing, and still Bucky waited. It snowed up to Bucky's neck, and still Bucky waited, shivering in the snow. It snowed until Bucky was covered completely in white. Steve looked for Bucky, calling out to him, not knowing he was buried alive under his feet.

Steve woke up shivering. It wasn't true, he reassured himself. They'd gone back to look for Bucky as soon as they could, and they never found any sign of him. There was no way the rescue team could have missed him if he'd been waiting by the tracks for help.

Still, he couldn't help sobbing for a minute or so, because the important part was true. It had to be. Bucky was dead, had been dead for years.

That didn't ease his temptation to ask Natasha about what Clint said. He finally gave in and asked her one night in a helicopter on the way back from one of those rare missions that called for both their skills.

“I can't tell you anything,” Natasha said. “And I don't know much. But whatever Clint might have told you,” Natasha said. Steve prepared for her to admonish him that sometimes people seem to look the same. But instead, she said, “He wouldn't tell you if he wasn't sure. And I,” she said, “I know that man. Personally. From before. An enemy agent I use to work with. Never knew his real name, didn't seem important. They called him The Winter Soldier. I always assumed he was Russian, he spoke without an accent. But he spoke without a detectable accent in English just as well as he did it in Russian. I knew a guy who swore he was French, but I don't think that was right either. And he looked young, just like your picture. But I've known people who swear they worked with him in the 60's.”

Steve looked at her, shocked. He knew she wouldn't joke around with him about something like this, something this important.

“He's an assassin, Steve,” Natasha said, “The best assassin I've ever seen. He's a stone cold killer. Budapest was messy. Don't get your hopes up. But that's him. You didn't hear any of this from me. You don't know any of this.”

“I don't know anything,” Steve said. “Except that if that's Bucky, I have to find him.”

“Be careful,” Natasha said.

Officially, Steve had booked a vacation to visit some of the sites of his service during the war. Fury reluctantly approved it. He decided to start in London, because it was easy to get approval to go to London. After a day or so, when he was fairly certain he wasn't being followed or monitored in ways that were overly invasive, he booked a flight to Russia. He was at the airport when he got a call from Tony Stark.

“You'd better not have plans for tomorrow night,” Tony said, “Because I've found you a date you wouldn't believe. He's just your type. Blue eyes, black hair. Right on track to be the next Anderson Cooper. You do know who Anderson Cooper is right, I’m not losing you there?”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said, “I did watch your interview.” That was one of those moments at Stark Tower, everyone gathered around the television to watch a prerecorded interview as Tony did a play by play, commenting on Cooper’s interview style. Tony took great pleasure in reassuring them that this is how the pros do big media interviews after taking down a super villain. 

“Anderson Cooper is spoken for. I'm a good friend, I did ask. But I’ve found you a fine specimen. A bright guy, works out, great sense of humor. Seven o'clock good for you?”

“Tony, I don't know how to tell you this,” Steve said, “But I'm on my way to Russia.”

“What? What do you mean you're going to Russia?” Tony asked. “Why are you going to Russia?”

“To pick up my mail order bride,” Steve said, “Why do you think I'm going to Russia, Tony? I'm trying to find out what happened to Bucky. I guess I have you to thank for this. Convincing me to get out more.”

“I meant dates, Steve. Maybe some light dancing, nothing too strenuous for your knees. I didn't mean you should carry on your obsessive behavior somewhere else,” Tony said. “Did Hawkeye and Widow talk you into this? Because I never thought Captain America would buy into conspiracy theories.”

“For Bucky, I'll suspend my disbelief,” Steve said. “Anyway, give the future Anderson Cooper my regrets.”

“Your loss,” Tony said, and then he hung up with no further fanfare.

Steve was comfortable with this resolution of the interaction. He would later explain to Natasha, “I was real proud of myself. Until I got off the plane in Russia and saw Tony Stark in his Iron Man get up waiting for me on the tarmac.”


	2. The Continental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve couldn't focus on Tony so easily with the Russian countryside passing quickly below him. He couldn't help but wonder if Bucky was out there somewhere. Steve had to be careful. Hope was becoming faith, and faith could lead to disappointment.
> 
> The sounds of the plane and Steve's reminiscence seemed to bleed together, and he noticed the stewardess had left some headphones for him to use. Plugging the odd double headed jacks in, he found the station dialed to easy listening music, which suited him fine. At first he didn't recognize the song, but after about thirty seconds of heavily improvised jazz, he realized he was hearing “The Continental.”

“You're worse than a bad penny,” Steve said, “And I bet your suit is just as coppery.”

“I thought half the point of a bad penny was a lack of copper content,” Tony replied. “Speaking of which, how surreal is modern money to you?”

“Back in '43, pennies were made of steel, because of the war effort. Everybody was trying to spend them as dimes, because the color was the same. Can't get any more surreal than that. Also, you need to learn to respect your elders. I don't need you to remind me how old I am,” Steve said. “You realize that the mission I'm on isn't officially sanctioned and will likely be long and fruitless, right?”

“And I will be with you every step of the way,” Tony said. “Every boring, useless step. So, why Russia?”

“My working theory is that he's based out here somewhere,” Steve said. “Department X use to own a lot of warehouses out here, so I thought I'd check out some old leads, see what I can run down.”

“You're just going to, what, wander around looking for him?” Tony asked. Steve's wordless response must not have satisfied him, because he sighed in exasperation and ran his hand through his hair. “You should be really thankful to have me around, Steve. Before I jumped in a vehicle and flew across the ocean, I actually stopped for a minute and talked to Natasha about details. Then I did a little research. Budapest incident? There are pictures of that. This him?”

Tony produced a blurry security photo of a man with shoulder length brown hair, a sullen expression, and what Steve first believed was shiny paint on his arm. Seconds later, he realized what he was looking at. “Is that arm made of metal?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded. He said, “Which brings me to an idea that came to me a couple of hours ago. Let's assume you have an American super soldier with one arm in your Soviet toy box. There are certain things that would need to happen before he became an expert communist turncoat sniper slash assassin. You'd need some kind of behavioral expert, certainly. And a permanent place to keep him. Possibly some experts in advanced interrogation techniques, sure. But let's look at the most obvious question. Guy has one arm, which is not cohesive to great feats of violence. Unless your name is Kimble.” Tony looked at Steve for any sign he might have understood that reference, but he did not. 

Then Tony continued, “Now, back in, let's say the 60's or 70's, a guy shows up who can fit your broken soldier with a new tin arm. A guy kind of like my dad, except a little insidious, and he just happened to get his butt kicked back to Russia. What would you say the odds were that Department X would have no use for a local evil genius?”

“So, who are we looking for?” Steve asked.

“Good old Anton Vanko, who unfortunately is dead, so it isn't like we could dig up that lead. Well, except literally. He had a son, but he's dead too, which I suppose is my bad. We could go look at his stuff, see if he left anything there that could confirm my suspicions,” Tony said. “But before we do anything else, we need to book a private plane.”

“Why is that?” Steve asked.

“Because we're going to Siberia,” Tony replied.

Tony made it a point to take a power nap on the flight, because international travel in even the latest suit was very fatiguing. Steve could tell Tony was glad to be out of his suit, slouched heavily against his seat. Still, Tony had a death grip on his red and gold suitcase, which was not the least bit inconspicuous. Steve wondered if Tony even considered stealth at all when he built any of his suits. In a way, Steve found that refreshing. Tony may have been arrogant, but he was honest and he appreciated the necessity of transparency.

Steve couldn't focus on Tony so easily with the Russian countryside passing quickly below him. He couldn't help but wonder if Bucky was out there somewhere. Steve had to be careful. Hope was becoming faith, and faith could lead to disappointment.

The sounds of the plane and Steve's reminiscence seemed to bleed together, and he noticed the stewardess had left some headphones for him to use. Plugging the odd double headed jacks in, he found the station dialed to easy listening music, which suited him fine. At first he didn't recognize the song, but after about thirty seconds of heavily improvised jazz, he realized he was hearing “The Continental.”

Back in 1939, Steve had a few weeks of particularly frail health. When his bout had mostly subsided, Bucky insisted on dragging Steve out to see “The Gay Divorcee” with a couple of ladies of about his usual speed. A leggy brunette for Steve, a sharp angled blonde for Bucky, and a bucket of popcorn to split between the four of them. Girls usually liked to sit on either side of Bucky, but in this case Steve's disinterested date didn't express a preference, which allowed him the prime piece of real estate at Bucky's left.

“The Gay Divorcee” was a rerelease that came out back in '34, and for that matter, Bucky had no interest in musicals. But sometimes it was cheaper to see a movie that had been in theaters before, and this five year old reel was a bit frayed. Around that time, people weren't too keen on throwing things away, and anything with Fred Astaire's name on it seemed to sell.

Steve didn't mind going to musicals with pretty girls. It made Bucky happy when Steve got out of the house, for one thing. For another thing, Steve liked Fred Astaire, though he was none too quick to admit it. Steve was no dancer. His asthma prevented him from doing excessively physical things. In spite of that, and perhaps because of it, Steve was in love with the idea of dancing. He liked to try to capture movement on paper, and dancing was one of his favorite subjects. 

Astaire made dancing look intuitive, like breathing or walking. He remembered a particularly dramatic flair in “Night and Day” when Fred Astaire's feet were moving so smoothly and Ginger Rogers was looking him right in the eye, and Steve wanted to reach for Bucky's hand on the armrest. A quick glance to his right negated any further inclination.

Bucky was clearly bored to tears, barely even conscious. His date was a total loss, she seemed mad at him over something. Briefly, Steve wondered if Bucky had gotten fresh. Usually Bucky was pretty respectful to ladies, but every once in a while he'd get handsy in a theater. Bucky's face was so passive, he didn't really look upset. Just bored.

Steve and Bucky walked the girls home together that night. Steve didn't care that what's-her-name was giving him the cold shoulder, his head full of music and images he would try to commit to paper later.

“I wonder what it's like,” Steve said.

“What, with dames?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked at him, perplexed, and then realized the nature of the question. He clarified, “Dancing.”

Bucky chuckled. “Depends on who you're dancing with, I guess. It's easy to screw up and get embarrassed about it. I've stepped on a girl's toes more than once. But maybe when you get to feeling better, and you're not having so many attacks, I could take you out there with me.”

“You think so?” Steve asked.

“Hell, I'll take you to the damn Savoy one day, when you're up to it. Dancing's not so hard,” Bucky said, before hastily tacking on, “And there are some awfully pretty dancers. But don't get me started on the way those silly dance hall girls talk. I swear I want to kill somebody every time I hear the phrase 'ducky shincracker.' And 'dead hoofer' too. If those girls weren't so fast, they wouldn't be worth talking to. Whoever comes up with things like that should be shot.”

Steve shivered, and of course Bucky noticed, because Bucky always noticed.

“Why didn't you wear a jacket, Stevie?” Bucky asked softly, taking his own off and offering it to Steve. Steve refused it, but Bucky put it over his shoulders anyway. His fingers brushed up against Steve's neck, making him shiver again. “You need to take better care of yourself. How can I take you dancing if you won't let yourself get any better?”

Steve didn't say anything. At the time, he'd felt like Bucky was smothering him with help he didn't need or want, but years later, the memory made Steve blush. The old Steve didn't know how good he had it walking home that night with Bucky's jacket wrapped around him, to sleep in that chilly efficiency apartment with Bucky's soft breathing above him in the top bunk.

Steve's thoughts were happily interrupted when Tony woke up to find Steve staring out the window. He stretched, yawned, and clapped his hands together to get the attention of a stewardess, with whom he interacted using translation software provided by JARVIS. Steve was impressed, but he said nothing, because he was tired of having his ignorance of technology commented on. For all Steve knew, everybody could do that.

“We've got about an hour left. Need something to drink?” Tony asked.

Steve politely refused. The stewardess handed Tony a mixed drink in a tall fluke. She smiled at Steve, who smiled back reflexively. When she walked away, Tony winked at Steve and gave him a soft elbow.

“Not too late, you know. Russian girls,” Tony didn't finish the sentence, he just smirked at Steve, who rolled his eyes.

“Smiling doesn't mean anything sexual,” Steve said, “I was just being friendly.”

“You were just being Captain America,” Tony said, “All smiles and innocent patriotism. Honestly, Steve, you're never getting anywhere with that attitude.”

“I notice you're not following her around,” Steve commented. “Why would that be? Maybe because you have feelings for someone else?”

“I'll have you know I slept around for years knowing full well I was in love with Pepper. But I didn't know she loved me, and that's kind of an important thing to hash out before you can be faithful to anybody,” Tony said.

“I'm sorry, my affection isn't that easily passed around,” Steve said.

“Affection has nothing to do with it,” Tony said. “Really, if you love someone that much the least you can do is practice.” Tony grinned at Steve's shocked face. “That was a joke, Steve.”

“Oh,” Steve said miserably. Desperate to change the subject, he asked, “So, what do you know about Vanko?”

“Everything there is to know,” Tony said. “His son tried to kill me, and when people try to kill me I take it very seriously. He worked for my dad back in the day, and they had a falling out over money and morality, believe it or not. He was a Russian expatriot, and whatever issues he had with my dad resolved in deportation. You know, in hindsight, that seems like a terrible decision. I mean, they knew he was a scientist to rival my father without moral scruples, and they sent him to Russia right in the middle of the Cold War?”

“Huh,” Steve said. He'd learned a little about the Cold War since his return to the land of the living, but not nearly enough to discuss the politics behind it coherently, so he resorted to vague grunting and nods of encouragement that affirmed Tony's own ideas.

“You're not getting any of this, are you? Figures, I know a Billy Joel song you need to listen to and research, it's basically a list of things you missed,” Tony said. But he remained pensive. He said, “It does seem weird to me that the US government would willingly ship a guy like that back to Russia. What would make more sense would be if he weren't deported so much as recruited. But that wouldn't explain his residency in Siberia or the fact he died in poverty. Still a working theory, but there's something missing.”

“They could have just stiffed him,” Steve said. “Or maybe he double crossed them and they caught onto it.”

“Both valid theories,” Tony said. “I guess we're going to have to fish around and find out what happened there.”

The plane touched down in an airfield in the middle of nowhere. The houses in the surrounding area were little more than shacks, the people were haggard looking, and the temperature was low enough to justify putting the suit back on. Steve's super human metabolism seemed to keep him warmer in cold temperatures than an average man, but he still rifled through his luggage for a hooded jacket.

Tony asked the stewardess for a couple of sack lunches, which she filled with little pastries, grapes, and overstuffed Reuben sandwiches wrapped in thick paper.

They ate in a car Tony hired to take them to the storage facility where Vanko's belongings were being held. Tony bribed a minor government official to give him a key and look the other way while they sorted through things on the promise they wouldn't physically take anything. Steve had difficulty resisting the temptation to wonder how much this trip was costing Tony.

After a couple of hours spent sorting through Vanko's personal effects, Steve stumbled upon a book that seemed to be hand written. “I think I've found something,” he said, flipping through the pages. He eyed hand drawn diagrams.

“Give me that. JARVIS, I'm going to need you to scan something for me,” Tony said. He took the book from Steve's hands and looked at every page, one at a time. “Some of these diagrams look like elbow joints. I think we've hit the jackpot. JARVIS, overlay this page with Google translate.”

Tony took the helmet off and put it over Steve's head, so he could see.

The overlay made it possible for him to read what Vanko had written down. “Diagrams 32 A-F show articulation design, optimized for mobility at the elbow and shoulder joints in prosthesis model for Winter Soldier update 4.8,” Steve read. “This is it, this is what we're looking for. Look, Tony, it's even the left arm. It's him. Vanko really was involved with the project.”

Tony took the helmet back from Steve, and continued making scans of the book. When he was finished, he put the book back. “JARVIS, I need you to search the information I've just scanned for location markers, anything that could tell us where Vanko was working at this time.”

“Very good sir, this may take a moment,” JARVIS replied. Steve was still going through the drawers in a bedside table when JARVIS responded again. “Sir, I am unable to locate any markers for location in Vanko's data.”

“Damn it. Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Tony said. “I doubt there'd be anything in there that would directly identify any of his contacts in Department X, either.” The words came out as a half formed question.

JARVIS volunteered to search the document again for any proper names, which Tony consented to, but at around this time, Steve found a post card.

“Tony, what about this?” Steve asked, showing him the post card. “It's addressed from Anton to his son, and if I'm looking at it right, it's postmarked from-”

“Give me that!” Tony said. He looked at the card critically. “The date looks about right. JARVIS?”

“Sir?” JARVIS responded.

“Scan this card, and overlay it with Google translate,” Tony said.

“Very good, Sir,” JARVIS replied.

“'Dear Son,'” Tony read, “I hope this card finds you and your mother well. I'll be sending for you both soon. There is still much work to be done, and my coworkers are increasingly surly. At least it's interesting work. Interesting, challenging work. If only Stark could see me now! This is going to make us very rich. Soon, I will bring you out of that wretched place. Your loving father.”

“Where's it from, Tony?” Steve asked.

“The postmark says Dresden, East Germany. This would have been during Soviet occupation, which might explain Department X's interest in the region,” Tony said. “But more interestingly, the image on the back is from some kind of theme park. Ever heard of 'Geschichte Land?'”

Steve stared at him blankly for a moment, and then replied, “Can't say that I have. What now?” 

Tony shrugged. “I guess we get on another plane,” he said. “We're going to Geschichte Land.”

Steve slept on the flight to Dresden Airport as Tony poured over the scans of Vanko's notes, fascinated. 

When Director Fury called, it was a surprise to neither of them. Against all Tony's advice to the contrary, Steve picked up the phone.

“Sir?” Steve asked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fury asked. “You said you wanted to go on vacation, and I was nice enough to give you the time off for it, and this is how you repay me?”

“I am on vacation, Sir,” Steve said.

“With Tony Stark. In Siberia,” Fury said.

“Oh, we've already been to Siberia, Sir,” Steve said. “We're done with Siberia. Always wanted to see what the fuss was about, and now I know. It's cold there. Now we're back to the old WWII tour.”

“Your names are showing up on some awfully interesting lists, Captain Rogers, I hope you realize this. I don't know what you're up to, but whatever it is, you're taking some strange risks,” Fury said. “I'm beginning to think you've been compromised.”

“Not compromised, Sir. Just on vacation,” Steve said.

“Do I need to send somebody out there to babysit you?” Fury asked. “You realize you're a national icon, and if you were to get into some sort of international tourism scandal it'd be a major disappointment for the American people.”

“I understand, Director Fury,” Steve said.

“Tell Nick I said hi,” Tony said.

“Tony says hi,” Steve said.

Director Fury hung up on him.

“I've been reading over Vanko's notes,” Tony said, “There's some really interesting information in here. They never allowed him to interact with the one called 'Winter Soldier' for very long while he was awake, only long enough to test the arm's function after it was installed and to do some trouble shooting a couple of times.”

“Did he write down anything about what he saw?” Steve asked.

“Vanko did comment that the man he'd installed the arm on seemed to respond to commands very easily and immediately,” Tony didn't look at Steve as he spoke. “Vanko seemed to think he'd been put through some form of extreme operant conditioning. He compared the subject to a lobotomy patient in some respects, and yet he seemed impressively responsive to direct commands.”

“Lobotomy,” Steve said flatly. 

“We don't know that was what happened, Steve,” Tony said. “But it could be something like that. I know you hope what you find is the person you lost. But it's been a long time. And people are awful. I just think you should be ready for an unhappy ending.”

Steve stewed on that information for the rest of the flight.

The plane touched down in Germany without incident. Picking out a rental car, however, was an ordeal. Tony showed interest in the rental company's Lamborghini and and Ferrari models. At first, Steve was most inclined to say there was nothing stealthy about a banana yellow Lamborghini, but Tony pointed out that there was absolutely no way they were under cover. Tony Stark was an incredibly rich, internationally recognizable figure, and Steve Rogers was Captain America. Lying about who they were just wouldn't fly. Lying about what they were doing there, that was doable. Steve then reminded Tony that ideally there would be more than the two of them in the car before it was over and, strategically, it would be counter intuitive to select a convertible, because with their luck, there would be a car chase before it was over. He didn't want to have to worry about the thing flipping with him in it. So, Tony grudgingly conceded to booking an Escalade.

The two of them had lunch at Bebendorf's Buffett und Restaurant, which Tony claimed was excellent for the price. Steve inferred this meant Tony had eaten there before only to discover afterward that he'd looked it up on a tiny computer situated in his sunglasses.

“I don't know, Tony,” Steve said, stabbing at the pink gelatin dessert on his plate with a fork. “Even if Department X were here 40 years ago, they might have packed up long before now.”

“I'm feeling lucky, Steve,” Tony said, “Don't try to bring me down with your realistic pessimism. You're the one who drug me out here against my better judgment in the first place.”

“No, I'm not,” Steve said.

“Oh, yeah, I did that,” Tony said. His phone rang, and he looked at the screen to see who was calling. His face lit up. He slid his thumb over the touch screen as he stood. He didn't bother with a greeting, going straight to, “Hey, babe. Guess where I am, right now?” he asked, walking toward the front of the restaurant to take his call outside. “Nope, we're done there. Guess again.” And then he was out the door, presumably on the phone with Ms. Potts.

That left Steve sitting alone at the table with his gelatin, which was somewhat resistant to his attacks. He'd eaten plenty of jello in his time. This German made jello was heavily dolloped with whipped cream and they'd used some sliced strawberries in the mold. Once he'd sliced into it, it ceased being pretty and started looking like a pink and red mess. It was proving to be a sloppy option, but it tasted alright.

It caught Steve's attention that there were a couple of gentlemen sitting a few tables over who looked like they were having some kind of discussion. Once he'd noticed them, it was hard not to notice that they were conversing in Russian. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, more curious than suspicious at first. But slowly, their body language and tone conveyed to him that they were making some kind of deal. The only words he caught were “ Geschichte Land.” A briefcase changed hands. They shook hands. The two men left the restaurant separately. Steve paid for the food and tipped generously, and then he surreptitiously followed the man with the briefcase out of the restaurant.

Tony was standing at the corner, still on the phone with Pepper. Steve grabbed him by the elbow, dragging Tony and his briefcase behind him.

“Gotta go, Pepper, Steve's gone crazy again. Love you,” he said, hanging up the phone. “What's the deal, Steve?”

“We're going to follow that man,” Steve said, nodding to where the man with the briefcase had been standing on the sidewalk across the street only seconds before. But when he looked, the man wasn't there.

“Well, he's either invisible or he caught on he's being followed,” Tony said.

“He was just there!” Steve said. “Ugh. Okay, so they were talking in Russian, and I didn't understand most of it, but I think it all ties back to Geschichte Land. There's something fishy going on with that amusement park, Tony. I think we should check it out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony said. “Let's go see what we can find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos! Keep me informed of what you think, if you want to read more like this, leave me a comment. :)


	3. Blue Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If anybody finds out,” he had heard Bucky whisper, “He’ll get a blue discharge for sure.”
> 
> Before the war, Bucky had never brought it up one way or the other, and suddenly Bucky was whispering those devastating words, “blue discharge” to another soldier. Every soldier knew what that meant. You get a blue discharge, the commanding officers didn’t have to give you a reason. You just pack up and go home, and you have those papers hanging over your head from then on. It wasn’t an honorable discharge, and it wasn’t a dishonorable discharge, but people would be curious about why.
> 
> Although nice people didn’t talk about it back then, whether they knew or not, cruel people couldn’t talk about it enough. Blue papers would make it very hard at home.
> 
> Steve studied over everything he’d done for weeks, every word, every motion. Maybe Bucky could just see it in his eyes. Maybe he could read Steve’s thoughts. In his heart, he knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he’d never acted on his feelings. And his thoughts were none of anybody’s business but his. Maybe they were Bucky’s business, but Bucky couldn’t know.

“Well, that was pretty pointless,” Steve said, as they exited the amusement park.

“Nonsense,” said Tony, “I won you a Kewpie Doll, didn’t I?”

“Very funny, Tony,” Steve said, although Tony hadn’t been kidding about the Kewpie doll. He really did hit the target. Whether using a repulsor blast was cheating or not was somewhat up for debate. “We didn’t find out anything, we didn’t pick up any more leads, and I don’t know where else to go from here. We wasted a whole day. There was obviously something going on in Dresden at one point, but it might not have had anything to do with this place.”

“But you had fun, right?” Tony said, “I mean, we rode the smallest, least well maintained wooden rollercoaster in Germany. That had to be exciting.” Steve didn’t even look at him, so Tony went on. “It’s okay, we’ll find another lead. Geschichte Land wasn’t what we were looking for. No big deal. There are plenty of crummy German amusement parks in the sea.”

“I’m beginning to believe you were right,” Steve said, “I should have known better than to come out here expecting some kind of miracle. Not that it would have been a miracle for Bucky if he were out here. He’s probably better off dead than getting dragged through Department X’s schemes.”

“Nope,” Tony said, “you’ve gotten me invested now. I’m not going to let you back down until we’ve run this Winter Soldier down. If he’s not Bucky Barnes, we’ll kick his ass and call it a day, and if he is, you’re going to stop bottling things up and tell him what’s going on with you. For better or worse, that’s just the way it’s going to be.”

“Tony, I’m sorry I pulled you into this. I’m not sure how I did it, but I did, and believe me, I’m sorry I’ve wasted so much of your time and money,” Steve said.

“I need it,” Tony said, “-the distraction, I mean. Staying busy helps me cope. If I weren’t running around in Germany with you, I’d be running Pepper ragged somewhere else. You’re doing her a favor right now by keeping me busy.”

Steve tried to picture Tony dragging Pepper through an awful amusement park in Germany, but he couldn’t imagine her going along with any of this. “I thought the future was suppose to be better,” Steve lamented as they approached the car. “Coney Island was so much better than that.”

“I’m sure this place was just great in its day. It’s day isn’t now,” Tony said. “Say, do you smell something?”

Sure enough, standing beside the car was Agent Coulson enjoying a sausage on a bun with sauerkraut, and beside him stood Clint, who was wearing a sun visor and chewing bubblegum.

Tony was aghast. “First of all,” Tony said, “How are you alive? And secondly, how did you know we would be here?”

“I’m sorry, you didn’t think Tony Stark and Steve Rogers on vacation at the European equivalent to Dollywood would catch any international attention?” Phil said. He turned on his phone, the background for which was already Tony and Steve in their rollercoaster picture. “You didn’t even have to pay for this, by the way, the people sitting behind you bought a copy, scanned it, and posted it on Tumblr for the world to see. Free souvenir photo. Pretty cool.”

“Comparing this place to Dollywood is pretty generous,” Tony said. “I took some kid to Dollywood a few weeks ago, this place is so not-”

“You’re ignoring my point,” Phil said. “Iron Man and Captain America just visited what is, I can assure you, one of the worst vacation spots in Europe. Can you tell me why you picked this place over Disneyland Paris? Don’t bother, I already know. Hydra’s fingerprints are all over this place.”

“Hydra?” Steve asked. “I thought we won the war,” Steve’s voice waivered. “Hydra still existing at all, that’s not winning the war.”

“Steve,” Tony said, “Steve, don’t you see? We’re in the right place.”

“Not for very long,” Clint said, “They’ve seen you. They’ll move him the minute they’re able. We’re going to have to lock this place down, see if we can find him first.”

“And we’re going to need to be sneaky about it, too, if they know for sure what we’re looking for it’ll only make them more desperate to keep him out of our reach. For all they know, we’re here for espionage purposes only,” Phil said.

With that in mind, the four of them made their way back into the park. Phil and Clint searched the hall of mirrors, Tony sent up a tiny drone to search for signs of any suspicious constructions that weren’t obviously part of the park. Steve, who spoke a little German, asked a few carneys some questions, but he found nothing definitive.

Wandering the fairground, Steve’s attention was fully focused on finding evidence of Bucky’s existence. He didn’t hear the sound of metal on metal over the sound of the ferris wheel. He didn’t see the black spot on the roof of the red hot sausage stand. He failed to sense the sniper lining up the shot. He did, however hear the sound of a bullet hitting the wooden stand in front of him, and he had enough sense to turn toward the source. He caught the shape of the dark figure racing away, and without thinking, he gave chase.

The Soldier wore black from head to toe, kept his face covered with a pair of goggles and a black mask that covered his mouth. There was no identifying him from behind, Bucky never kept his hair that long. The metal arm, which hadn’t alerted his attention to the presence of the Soldier, now made a deafening series of noises as he moved. In hindsight, it should have been obvious he was being tailed, but the Soldier had some catlike ability to stalk without being seen or heard by his prey.

He was considerably less skilled at being pursued, though he certainly put up a good effort. Steve’s body was just too powerful to evade, and certainly the weight of the arm didn’t help. Soon, the Soldier was cornered. Trouble was, he still had the gun, and he seemed to be trying to take Steve’s head off with it. Steve’s arm itched for his shield, but he’d left it back in the Escalade, knowing it would make him look more combative. Steve advanced on the Soldier fast enough to render the long rifle mostly moot, and then the real struggle started.

Steve knew he had to disarm the Soldier if he hoped to survive the encounter long enough to ascertain the Soldier’s identity. He wrestled with the Soldier for some time, fighting for his life and for all hope of Bucky’s freedom. Steve had to avoid the dangerous strikes of the Soldier’s bionic arm in his attempts to pin him down, which was extremely difficult.

“Bucky, please, stop,” Steve said.

The Soldier only looked at him, unyielding, though Steve believed he struggled less.

Suddenly there was a dart in the Soldier’s right shoulder. He looked at Steve as though he were a party to a personal betrayal. Slowly, he slumped, and Steve was able to separate him from his weapon. He knelt down beside the Soldier, who was fighting to maintain consciousness, and reached down for the mask, unable to resist for another moment. The goggles came away first, revealing a dark, bloodshot scowl. Then the mask that protected the Soldier’s mouth, which was twisted in an animalistic expression of- was it agony?

But it was Bucky, there was no doubt about that. “Bucky,” Steve said, “It’s me, Steve.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky asked.

It was then that Steve found out about the knives the Soldier kept in his boot, because Bucky dived at him with the full force of his remaining strength. Steve only just managed to hold Bucky in such a way so as not to be stabbed. 

Bucky fell asleep in his arms, even then trying his damnedest to murder him.

“How romantic,” Tony said. He’d finally caught up to them, probably alerted to what had happened by his drone.

“Very funny,” Steve said again. He was soaked in sweat from exertion, and Bucky wasn’t much better off, for all the rest he was getting.

“Well, you got what you came for,” Tony said, “You were just saying how disappointing today was. We get things done in this family. None of that giving up and going home nonsense.”

“Now what?” Steve asked, watching Clint climb down from the rooftop he’d taken his shot from.

“I guess you get to keep him,” Tony said, “I mean, we’re not going to just turn him over to Fury, are we? I’m not convinced that’d be better for him than Hydra.”

Steve shot Tony a look, “Of course it’d be better than Hydra. Anything would be better than Hydra.”

“This is going to get complicated,” Phil said. Steve hadn’t noticed him walking up, but he knew Phil would be close. “I mean, he’s an American citizen, so, of course he can get back into the country. But there’s going to be so much paperwork. How do you prove someone is a brainwashed American citizen who’s been missing since the ‘40s?”

“Nevermind that,” Clint said, “How can we hold him? He might be brainwashed, but he’s also dangerous. We’re going to need every bit of help we can get with this one.”

“We’re going to have to arrest him,” Steve said. “Nothing too public, of course, if word of this gets out it’ll be all over the tabloids, and there’s no reason Bucky’s name should suffer over this. No, this will require some finesse. We’re going to need Fury’s help here. And we’re going to have to make Fury understand.”

“Understand what?” Clint asked. “That we have an extremely dangerous prisoner, and you want to try to fix him?”

“Well,” Steve said, “Yeah. And I’m Captain America, and this is Bucky Barnes, and if I can’t help another veteran out, I will start talking very loudly about my retirement.”

Fury sent a cleanup crew to handle what little was left of the Hydra base at the theme park. The Hydra operatives themselves seemed to have disappeared. 

Despite all their best efforts to keep the Winter Soldier’s arrest out of the papers, images of Steve Rogers carrying a one armed, sleeping man were all over the internet the next day.

News agencies weren’t able to identify the Soldier as Bucky Barnes, nor were they able to specifically pin the Soldier down to any crimes, but it was certain that Captain America had caught the bad guy once again. Nevermind that he was dressed in his civvies and they had no idea who this person was. Probably a terrorist, some Fox News anchors speculated.

Steve had done a thorough search to ensure that this time, Bucky had been fully screened for weapons. For his part, Bucky had become complacent, almost obedient, since he regained consciousness. He allowed Steve to strap him into restraints once he boarded the helicopter, making no effort to escape, but also saying nothing.

“Well, that’s weird,” Tony commented. “It’s like he’s a completely different guy now. I mean, this afternoon he was trying to stab you, now all of the sudden it’s like he doesn’t care. And like he can’t hear us talking about him. He doesn’t even look at me. Natasha said he speaks English. So, what’s this about?”

“Tabula rasa,” Phil said, “He’s in a blank state. My best guess is it’s triggered by sleep. They probably did this to make him easier to retrieve after a mission. They’ve probably trained him not to sleep until he’s finished his mission. Once he sleeps, he forgets.”

Steve held Bucky’s hand and tried to see into his eyes, but Bucky held his head low, as though trying to avoid eye contact.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve said. “I’ve got you. It’s Steve. You don’t remember me right now, but you will. I’m your best friend, and you’re mine, and we’re going to fix all of this. Things can’t go back to normal,” Steve said, “We can’t go back where we came from. But maybe there could be a new normal. I’ve got a nice little apartment, you could come stay with me. We could live together, like we use to. But you’re going to need to get better first, Bucky. You need to remember. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Bucky repeated.

Steve’s eyes lit up for a moment, but he quickly realized that he’d accidentally given a command and Bucky was trying to follow it. “That’s right, Buck,” he said anyway. “You’re going to remember that. We’re going to bring you back.”

Bucky finally looked at him, almost curiously. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he parroted. “And I’m going to remember, and I’m going to come back.”

“That’s right,” Steve said, “You’re Bucky, and I’m Steve.”

“I’m Bucky,” Bucky said, like a child reciting a lesson. “I’m Bucky, and you’re Steve, and I’m going to remember my name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Buddy,” Tony said, patting Steve on the shoulder.

“His name isn’t Buddy,” Bucky said, “It’s Steve.” He seemed completely calm. “I will remember.”

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve said, “It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, though. Steve felt like crying. He’d found his best friend’s body, and it was alive, but the Bucky he knew seemed to be well and truly dead. He still had to try. For Bucky’s sake, because there might be something left in there. He had to try. 

Steve told him, “You’re my best friend, Bucky. Whatever we have to do to help you, we’ll do it. These are my friends, they’re going to help you too. We’re going to fight this, get your memories back. You’re going to be okay.”

Bucky said nothing, but he looked at Steve, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he really wanted from him. But his gaze wasn’t cold. He seemed innocent, curious. Steve couldn’t reconcile this man with the human tiger he’d struggled against hours before. That Bucky would have killed him without a thought. He was all rage and dedication, and all of it seemed to be dedicated to killing Steve Rogers.

Steve was uneasy. He wasn’t sure whether he trusted the tabula rasa theory. It was very possible that Bucky was playing innocent, biding his time until he could get access to a weapon.

Still, it was hard to be intimidated by him now. Without his bionic arm in place, he was beginning to resemble what he really was. Bucky just looked like a scarred veteran, a POW who could finally come home.

He was stronger than Steve remembered. His hair, which had first seemed unkempt to Steve, seemed to suit him. Bucky wasn’t the person Steve remembered, he was some sort of wild creature Steve had trapped and was going to have to tame. But Steve couldn’t think of him like that, he wouldn’t think of what he was going to have to do as anything less than rehabilitation.

Steve remembered the day Bucky got his draft papers. He thought he was being sly, suddenly talking about enlisting for the war effort, but Steve recognized the signs. Bucky didn’t react to Pearl Harbor the way Steve had. He didn’t set his mind on going to war right away. Steve had never liked bullies, and had wanted to fight for his country and help the war effort. Bucky had mostly wanted to mind his own business, try to make a little money to keep their apartment afloat.

When Bucky’s number came up, he wasn’t interested in being a hero, though later that’s just what he became, more for Steve than for his country. He was just a young man who wanted to come home when the war was over. Steve didn’t have any illusions about that, he and Bucky weren’t the same. Lots of boys got drafted. That didn’t make him less of a man, though it did hurt his pride a bit. So, he carried on like it was his decision when there were girls around, and they called him brave and clung to his shoulder.

Steve knew the truth, and he loved him anyway, and today was like that day. Bucky was a shell of his former self, but Steve knew him. He had hope for him. He loved him.

Steve reminded himself that feeling was volatile. His Bucky- the Bucky he knew didn’t know how he felt. If he’d ever known, it would change everything about their friendship. If he was ever going to get that friendship back, this Bucky could never know the truth about Steve. He was going to have to be very careful not to show too much affection. This Bucky didn’t know what normal was for them yet, and looking back on the way they’d lived, it was a miracle Bucky had never figured it out then. He would have to be constantly on his guard against showing his strongest emotion.

Back in ‘42, Steve had thought for a moment that Bucky might have figured it out. 

“If anybody finds out,” he had heard Bucky whisper, “He’ll get a blue discharge for sure.”

Before the war, Bucky had never brought it up one way or the other, and suddenly Bucky was whispering those devastating words, “blue discharge” to another soldier. Every soldier knew what that meant. You get a blue discharge, the commanding officers didn’t have to give you a reason. You just pack up and go home, and you have those papers hanging over your head from then on. It wasn’t an honorable discharge, and it wasn’t a dishonorable discharge, but people would be curious about why.

Although nice people didn’t talk about it back then, whether they knew or not, cruel people couldn’t talk about it enough. Blue papers would make it very hard at home.

Steve studied over everything he’d done for weeks, every word, every motion. Maybe Bucky could just see it in his eyes. Maybe he could read Steve’s thoughts. In his heart, he knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he’d never acted on his feelings. And his thoughts were none of anybody’s business but his. Maybe they were Bucky’s business, but Bucky couldn’t know.

“There’s been something bothering me, Steve,” Bucky said. Steve held his breath. This was it, Bucky was finally going to ask about his secret. He looked at Steve strangely. “You okay, buddy? You look kind of pale.”

“No,” Steve said, “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, go on?”

“I wouldn’t tell you any of this if it weren’t in complete confidence,” Bucky said, “I mean, I trust you to do the right thing more than I trust me. And, I- I don’t know what the right thing is. We’re suppose to report it when the guys get up to no good. Without dames. And not alone. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Right,” Steve said. “And you know somebody who’s been doing that?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “Dugan and I, we walked in on a couple of guys. Dugan’s willing to write it off, I mean, we haven’t seen a woman who wasn’t Carter in weeks, and boys will be boys, and all that. But, I just. You know I’m not a follow the rules guy. I’m just kind of lost on this, you know? Do you ever feel like maybe the blue discharge is maybe going too far?”

“I-” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off.

“No, I shouldn’t have even said anything,” Bucky said, “We’ll just all forget about it, right?”

“Forget about it,” Steve said, “Yeah. We’ll forget about it. None of my business for sure.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “Those fellas should have locked the barn door or something.”

Steve laughed. Bucky laughed. They wrote it off. Nobody ever spoke of it again. Steve still didn’t know what Bucky had seen or who he’d caught. Bucky had seemed more worried about leaving those boys to deal with the stigma of the blue discharge than worried about what they’d been up to. But he hadn’t really said anything, one way or the other, and it had clearly bothered him, otherwise he’d never have spoken to Steve about it. Bucky was normal, but back then Steve wasn’t.

In the future, Steve was normal. So he was gay? People didn’t seem to care anymore. At least, there weren’t such direct punishments for it. Steve imagined he still didn’t have an invitation to completely be himself. He was still Captain America, even if he was living in the most freedom-loving country on the planet. But he was beginning to feel like if he had taken Tony up on his introduction to a handsome journalist, the media wouldn’t have blinked too hard. It would be a news item, sure, but not necessarily a scandal. He’d never thought about coming out before, but he realized now it was an option.

He couldn’t think about any of that, not until Bucky was settled into whatever normal was going to be for him from now on. Once Bucky was better, Steve could try again. He’d let Tony set him up on dates, he’d go out and meet people. There was that hope again, flaring up at the idea that maybe one day Bucky would be himself, and Steve could be happy.

For now, he reminded himself, he had a long road ahead of him. Bucky didn’t seem interested in where he was, or who he was with, except for Steve. He seemed intent on following Steve’s instructions. He would remember that he was James Buchanan Barnes, and Steve was Steve, and they were best friends. He could follow instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this got a little heavy. Hopefully, I'll be able to bring it back around to something more consistent to the tone of the first two chapters in chapter 4. The blue discharge, BTW, was a real problem for gay and bisexual soldiers during WWII, and it also affected black soldiers. Basically, anybody they wanted to send home, they could send them on blue papers, and it'd just mean they weren't suited to military life. These papers were discontinued when people figured out how destructive they were to soldiers' lives at home. Afterwards, the military started using section 8 (the mental health discharge) to remove gay soldiers from service. Thanks for reading this. Let me know if you pick up on any historical inaccuracies, I love to learn more about the early 40's. Thanks again to my beta reader, she's earned her wings on this one. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my beta reader, Kika988. Let me know what you think in the comments, particularly if you'd like to see more like this.


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